


You Know What I Think About (One Love, Two Mouths)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series Finale, Riley likes to seduce Will in Icelandic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 18:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15249279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: If Riley had thought the sex was good before, she doesn’t have words to describe it now.There’s something different about how they move together now that they’re free, more intense than anything she’s ever known. He’s hers, standing before her with a smirk, a boyish grin that makes her weak. He knows this, so he moves closer, lifts her up, flush to his chest, and relishes in the way her legs hook around his waist. She kisses him deeply, briefly, before leaning back against the locked door and sighing when his lips follow to find her throat.“Yours,” he muses against her skin, confirming her thoughts as if she didn’t already know the answer.





	You Know What I Think About (One Love, Two Mouths)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Sweater Weather" by The Neighbourhood.

If Riley had thought the sex was good before, she doesn’t have words to describe it now.

There’s something different about how they move together now that they’re free, more intense than anything she’s ever known, even compared to how they were before defeating Whispers. Being with Will for the first time, together and alive next to each other, was better than any drug she’d ever tried, better than any drunken giddiness alcohol could ever bring, better than anything either of them had ever known. And that was just when she awoke in the BPO facility, limp on a hospital bed, with his hand holding hers, beside her,  _ real. _

The first time Will kissed her, somewhere in between Reykjavík and Chicago, was enough to make her heart feel like it could explode. The first time he kissed her,  _ really  _ kissed her, on the mountains where years ago she had been sure she would die and was ready to, she thinks this must be the reason she didn’t.

The first time they make love, neither of them can silence their worries about Whispers, not really. Concerns shuffle around the back corners of their minds, always there no matter how distracted they get, but then they slip together, effortlessly and perfect and honest to god like they were made for each other, and they almost don’t care. 

When Will laid in a heroin induced haze for hours on end, Riley would hold his hand, tracing his fingertips, remembering how they held her waist days before, tight and keeping her close, yet gentle. Even as he slept she could feel his love , and  love felt like an insufficient word —  still does —  like it’s not enough, but it was the only word in her head, repeating over and over. She remembers aching with him, through the contact that goes far beyond physical, and she thought that she’s never had more to fight for than she does now. 

But the fighting is over now, and the past only makes the present sweeter. Riley has had enough of paranoia, of fear and believing the worst in life would always find her no matter what she did to run from it, because Will Gorski stands before her and he is, by the far, the best in life that anyone could get.

And he’s  _ hers, _ standing before her with a smirk, a boyish grin that makes her weak. He knows this, so he moves closer, lifts her up, flush to his chest, and relishes in the way her legs hook around his waist. She kisses him deeply, briefly, before leaning back against the locked door and sighing when his lips follow to find her throat.

    “Yours,” he muses against her skin, confirming her thoughts as if she didn’t already know the answer. 

    “Mine,” she repeats.  _ “Minn.” _

Sex is always different for them every time, always so much of a unique experience that Will considers commending himself for ever doing anything else besides making love to her. His Riley will wake up beside him, drape a leg over his middle and hide her face in the corner of his pillow, and getting up for work is the last thing he wants to do,  _ ever.  _ Especially when memories of the night before are one of the first thoughts she has when she wakes, and so he’s reliving it all again too, with her. And of course, she’s giving him that look, sleepy eyes through thick lashes and faint remnants of eyeliner on pale skin, and he can never do anything but clamber on top of her and give her exactly what they both want. 

They’re both just so amazed that they’re safe and don’t have to spend each hour of each day planning escape routes from lobotomizations, and it’s not that they didn’t think they would survive, but sometimes their doubts were louder than their hope. They both wake up in cold sweats some nights, seconds after one another if not at the same time, and as painful as the remembering is — the lingering sensation of a noose around Sun’s neck, the reverberation of electricity sparking Wolfgang’s body, the faint echo of the gunshot that pierced Kala’s stomach— the relief is immense and almost beautiful, considering what they’ve conquered. 

Will’s lips trip across Riley’s collarbones, pushing away the fabric of her sweater to move lower, and all she has to do is think the word  _ “bed”  _ for him to hastily stumble over to the mattress. 

He lays her down gently, gracefully with his hand on the back of her head, and she feels his heart beating long before her hand moves across his chest to remove his shirt. 

She shimmies out of her pants, distractedly gets her shirt stuck around her neck as she watches him work on his belt buckle. He’s quick, fingers working deftly and almost effortless, and she can’t  _ wait  _ to have those fingers somewhere else. 

    “You,” he chides, teasing and turned on as he hears her thought, and he presses a sweet kiss to her forehead before focusing on her uncovered chest.

    “What can I say? I love you,” she replies, and her voice is quiet, intimate, flirty and honest. He smiles hard against her ribs, hands smoothing up her sides. 

    “I love you,” he responds, looking up to meet her eyes. She’s peaceful, happy, caught up in him so much that it almost hurts, and he can read it all through her expression, regardless of how much he can feel her thoughts trip over him. 

His fingers skim against the hem of her underwear, brushing the skin underneath just enough. “And I love making love to you,” he continues, pressing a lingering kiss to her pubic bone, “so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Riley bites her lip, reaching back to rest her hands underneath the pillow. “Please.”

There’s freedom in how safe she feels with him, how she can watch him strip away the last of her clothing and be bare before him and not even worry. It helps that she can see herself through his eyes in a way, to feel how the adrenaline pushes through his body at the sight of her, to know that he loves her with everything he has, for everything she is. It’s so strong it could scare her, how deeply she finds herself within him and how he does the same, but instead it does the exact opposite. Her legs spread, welcoming him to his familiar position between them, and she exhales as soon as he touches her.

He wastes no time before lapping languidly and attentively at her, knowing what she needs and only stringing her along just a little; he pulls away when she shifts and her back begins to arch, hot breath on her wet skin, and she mutters a curse. 

Her fingers sift through his hair, holding his head in place as if he needs any urging. He enjoys pleasing her far more than he should— most of his fantasies on slow days at work entail with imagery of her sprawled across his desk, or in the backseat of his cruiser, or even on the hood of his cruiser, and it’s dangerous because she can be there as soon as he thinks it, wicked grin on her face as she fiddles with the collar of her shirt. To not take advantage of this aspect of their connection would be a waste of a gift that allowed far too much fun, although Will always had to make sure he was away from other people, and that he primarily stayed wherever Riley was while visiting. Diego had already walked in on far too many awkward exchanges, and he doesn’t want to get fired again, especially not for public indecency.

    “Babe,” Riley murmurs in encouragement between sighs, making Will grow even more giddy. He loves hearing her like this, adores the softness in her voice as she takes his love and grows from it. He presses a gentle finger into her entrance and shudders at the same time she does, moaning unabashedly loud.

    “God, baby,” she whines, and he’s slow at first, knowing she can take more but waiting it out, letting her linger on the precipice of desire for as long as she can stand. Her eyes are dark and unwavering on him, drinking in his every move, and she’s waiting, patient even though she wants nothing more than for him to touch her relentlessly. Will’s lips trail down her thigh, calming her while simultaneously driving her crazy, but then he adds a finger and pushes in deeper, and she’s anything but calm. 

He keeps his lips on her as his fingers work inside her warmth, and he’s panting, feeling the thrum of his movements to her in his own groin, intense. Riley keeps saying his name, louder and more passionate each time, and she peppers her speech with pet names—  _ babe, baby, love, sæti,  _ and the incoherent sounds that come out of her mouth from his touches. He loves her voice, loves hearing her tell him what she wants, even if only by small noises and loving nicknames. 

She knows this, too, so she grips his hair a little harder and whispers, “ _ elskan mín _ .”

Her voice echoes in Will’s mind, around him as he falls apart with her. She’s slick, moving against him as he licks at her, left hand coming to hold her waist in place. Her legs hitch around his back, ankles crossed, and she knows her orgasm is mere moments away. 

Still, when he almost purrs her words back at her—  _ my love, my darling;  _ the Icelandic translation is more weighted than any English phrase either of them can think up— she’s shocked, as always, that anything can feel this good.

He keeps close to her as she feels it all, fingers frantic against his neck, pulling him close, and he feels it all with her— the relief, the joy, the vibrancy of life that rushes in her veins, an emotion that before she met him, she never thought she’d ever get again. They feel it all together, two beings as one, and once her legs stop shaking she sits up, drawing Will in for a deep kiss. 

Her hands grasp his cheeks, stroke his jaw as her tongue eases into his mouth, and she gets lost in him, again. It’s a long time before her breathing is somewhat back to normal— as normal as it can be when they’re kissing and she’s in his lap and he’s in her head and she can’t even tell where her body ends and his begins anymore. 

Eventually he ends up on his back and she’s the one kneeling before him, and they both know whatever plans they had are canceled, at least until they’re done here, which may never happen. Will keeps his hands on her, in her hair, along her shoulders, down the valley between her breasts, and she does the same to him, kissing every inch of his skin she can reach while keeping their fingers intertwined. When she takes him in her mouth, it’s like they’ve started all over, and she’s already anticipating this time to be even better than the last. 

Will’s sigh turns into a chuckle, and he reaches his hand down to cup her cheek affectionately. “It always is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me in the comments or at my Tumblr @ sweeterthankarma and cry with me over how soft and perfect these two are, because I'm never not going to be emotional over them.  
> P.S. If there are any errors in the Icelandic translations please let me know! I tried my best.


End file.
